Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Zhou Xu’s singing was a raw, bitter sound.

He’d been sulking all month, his face a mask of gloom. Forget his friends—even the dog from the shop next door kept its distance. When fixing cars, he’d slam the wrench down with such force that others nervously approached, asking, "Bro Xu, what’s wrong? It’s just tightening a screw..."

Zhou Xu paused, his expression icy. "Nothing."

It wasn’t until Ding Yong, unable to bear it any longer, dragged him out, saying, "Dude, don’t bottle it up," that Zhou Xu snapped, "Get lost, I’m not in the mood." Ding Yong retorted, "I know you don’t mess around—just sing a song. Look how scared the guys at the shop are. If I didn’t know better, I’d think your wife ran off, given that scowl."

Zhou Xu nearly chucked the ashtray, then stomped out.

Ding Yong sat there, exchanging bewildered glances with the other mechanics for a long moment before muttering, "Damn, did I hit a nerve? Didn’t even know he had a wife."

In any case, that Saturday night, Zhou Xu was reluctantly dragged to KTV—the newly opened "Heartfire" Money Cabinet in Lichuan County. It was lively, upscale, and packed with young people. Without a reservation, there’d be no private room. The moment they stepped in, a waiter in a sleek suit greeted them with a cool, elegant smile: "Coffee or tea?"

Zhou Xu slumped onto the couch, expressionless.

Music was already playing when Ding Yong leaned over. "He’s asking what you’re drinking—coffee or tea! Wait, isn’t that what they ask on planes?"

Zhou Xu wanted neither.

He was hurting. He just wanted alcohol.

In fact, ever since he’d taken Fang Bingxue home that day, Zhou Xu had chugged a bottle of beer alone. Only after finishing did it hit him—why had he touched Fang Bingxue’s lips? Thankfully, they were both men. If it had been a woman, wouldn’t that have been straight-up harassment?

Zhou Xu felt like total shit.

But honestly, it wasn’t that big a deal. There was no need to dwell on it. He stumbled to the shower, perhaps a little drunk, his breathing heavy in the steamy air.

Lost in the humid warmth, he unconsciously lowered his head and cautiously sniffed his own hand.

Since no one there was boarding a plane, Ding Yong skipped the coffee and tea, ordering two cases of beer instead, along with a generous spread of fruit, loading up the table. Among close friends, conversation flowed freely—"Bro Xu, what’s up?" "Bro Xu, if something’s bothering you, just say it." "Bro Xu, as long as it’s not offing someone, we’ve got your back. Seriously, what’s wrong?"

Bro Xu just kept drinking in silence.

Only when the others had sung their fill did he stiffly step up, cut the current track at the song selection screen, and grasp the microphone.

Dao Lang’s *Lover* had come out that year, a favorite among men. They’d hum it while driving or just idling around. The moment Zhou Xu’s voice rang out, the entire room fell silent.

Ding Yong was on the verge of tears. "What the hell’s wrong with my bro?!"

It wasn’t that Zhou Xu was off-key or had a bad voice—normally, his tone was deep, magnetic, and pleasant to hear. Now, hoarse from booze, it should’ve suited the song’s rugged style.

But there’s such a thing as too much.

When pain cuts too deep, when a voice turns so hoarse it’s like sandpaper, it loses its weathered charm. It stops being storytelling and becomes a jarring, almost violent, accident.

At first, the room was silent. Then whispers spread—"I remember Bro Xu wasn’t great at singing, but not *this* bad." Seeing Zhou Xu lost in his performance, oblivious, clutching the standing mic, Ding Yong sighed. "Let him be. Must be something on his mind. Just eat, ignore him."

So they mowed through the fruit tray, chatted, and one couple even stole a quick kiss, all while doing their best to ignore Zhou Xu’s wailing. No one noticed when the door was pushed open from outside.

Only when the stranger reached for the silver standing mic, cutting off the song, did everyone freeze and turn—

Fang Bingxue’s hand rested lightly on the mic, pulling it slightly toward himself. He smiled. "What’s going on? Singing so sadly."

Zhou Xu didn’t react much, just stared at him silently.

This guy wasn’t part of their circle—even Ding Yong didn’t recognize him. But the young man was strikingly handsome, his voice gentle, his demeanor calm and refined, like freshly fallen snow—pure and clean.

Then, in front of everyone, Zhou Xu reached out expressionlessly and pinched Fang Bingxue’s cheek, tugging lightly.

Fang Bingxue’s smile vanished instantly.

He smacked Zhou Xu’s hand away. "What the hell? Are you nuts?!"

The room was frozen quiet.

Everyone was stunned.

Because the guy moved quick—smooth but sharp. After yelling at Zhou Xu, he frowned, rubbing his reddened cheek.

And then Zhou Xu—the Zhou Xu who scowled at everyone like they owed him two million, who’d curse at anyone who dared speak to him, the Zhou Xu who’d once pulled glass shards from his own wound without flinching, the Zhou Xu who’d just been howling into the mic—the same Zhou Xu, now getting chewed out by Fang Bingxue...

Suddenly smiled. All shy-like, downright flustered.

"Didn’t realize it was real," he muttered, taking half a step back, blinking rapidly. "Must be dreaming... Have you eaten? Want some fruit? Tea? Or coffee? There’s also beer."

Fang Bingxue cupped his reddening cheek, scowling.

Zhou Xu licked his lips. "Ah, did I hurt you? Sorry, let me see—"

"No," Fang Bingxue finally lowered his hand. "You’re here tonight too?"

The "Heartfire" Money Cabinet was indeed lively, and the county was small—easy to bump into people on weekends. Zhou Xu nodded eagerly, his voice softening. "Yeah, friends dragged me out. Just singing. Not messing around."

That was the wrong thing to say. The room erupted. These guys were sharp—not a straight-laced one in the bunch. Sensing something off, they started fake-coughing their asses off, voices overlapping. Ding Yong even pinched his nose, aping, "*Friends dragged me out—*"

Another chimed in: "*Not messing around—*"

It was like a zoo exhibit, screeching and hollering. Zhou Xu turned and barked, "The fuck’s wrong with y’all?!"

Ding Yong slid off the sofa, dramatically clutching his chest. "So harsh, bro!"

Another joker fake-collapsed on the floor. "My butt hurts, bro! Wanna kiss it better, bro?!"

"For fuck’s sake." Zhou Xu rubbed his face. "Ignore these idiots. They’re wasted."

Fang Bingxue didn’t bat an eye. He smiled naturally at the group. "I ran into Bro Xu outside and came to say hi. Hope I’m not interrupting?"

"Not at all!" Ding Yong popped up like a jack-in-the-box, booking it over. "What’s your name, friend? Come on, have a drink—Zhou Xu, the actual fuck?!"

Zhou Xu was already herding Fang Bingxue out.

Ding Yong protested, trailing after them. "Hey, what’s the big idea?!"

Zhou Xu glanced back. "You guys keep going. Drinks are on me."

But Ding Yong snagged a bottle and tailed them. "Can’t let a guest leave without a drink! What should we call you?"

Fang Bingxue smiled. "Just call me Xiao Fang."

"Xiao Fang, nice to meet you." Ding Yong threw an arm around Zhou Xu’s neck, whispering, "Are you trying to bang his sister or something? Look how nervous you are..."

A natural-born schmoozer, Ding Yong could chat up anyone. Alcohol was the fastest icebreaker, and he wasn’t about to let Fang Bingxue leave without a drink—mostly because Zhou Xu’s reaction was too good to pass up.

Something was *definitely* up.

Zhou Xu frowned, pushing Ding Yong and the bottle away. "No. He can’t hold his liquor."

"I can," Fang Bingxue said with an air of ease. "I can handle my drink. Let's go!"

Ding Yong grinned. "Now that's my kind of guy! Love this kind of friend!"

Zhou Xu's expression darkened, ready to refuse again, but Fang Bingxue had already stepped forward, his pale fingers resting on Zhou Xu's wrist, applying light pressure.

Fang Bingxue was still smiling. "It's fine. I can drink."

Zhou Xu stood motionless. Since it was summer, their clothes were thin, and Fang Bingxue's fingers met his skin without any barrier. He could feel the other's cool fingertips and the slight calluses.

Not soft or delicate.

But a firm yet flexible touch that demanded attention.

Then, as if dissatisfied with his delayed reaction, Fang Bingxue raised his hand again and gave Zhou Xu's wrist a light tap, his tone firm.

"Bro Xu, I said I can."